One Hundred Days of MorMor
by montparnassee
Summary: 100 unrelated MorMor drabbles/one-shots Rating could possibly go up. We'll see. ABANDONED TO REDO.
1. Crash

Jim's scared. No, he's not scared, he's mahoganyterrified. He's never felt anything like this before. Frozen in place, his heart feels like it's pounding out of his chest, and he thinks he's going to throw up. His assistant sounds worried, but he simply dismisses her. Sebastian. The word echoes through his head dimly. He can't think of anything else for a few minutes. And then his brain starts and he wonders how it happened. Had Seb been speeding again? Or.. had it just been a mistake? He could clearly picture Seb, twisted and mangled, being pulled out of the car.

_Dead. _

Jim pressed his head into his hands, swallowing. He felt oddly disconnected from the world, head spinning wildly.

_Dead_.

Of course, no one had told him that Seb was dead, no one at all, but he suspected it. I mean, what other conclusion could you pull out of 'high-speed crash'?

So it was that he found himself curled up on his couch, staring blankly at the two pills on the coffee table. He hadn't considered this side of letting Sebastian into his life - a decision that he had hated himself for in the first place.

He hadn't ever thought that he would be losing Seb.


	2. Dim

Dim - 002

Seb knows something's wrong when he looks up at their flat from the street. It's almost completely dark. He groans, shaking his head, preparing for the imminent. Jim's in one of his moods again, there's no other possible explanation. That meant that Seb's life, at least for the next few hours, would become a living hell. At least, until Jim's mood swung again, and he became as docile as a kitten.

Which isn't saying much, because anyone who's ever dealt with a kitten knows they're evil little devils.

Sebastian closes his eyes, debating spending the night at a motel, but decides better of it. Jim'll only get worse. He steps, shoulders hanging glumly, into the building, taking the elevator up to the penthouse suite. He doesn't understand why Jim doesn't just buy a damned house, but Jim has many little quirks, and Sebastian thinks that this isn't an issue worth pushing. It's not really that much of an issue, anyway.

He opens the door, to find his suspicions proven true. The hallway is dimly lit, it looks like Jim smashed the light bulbs. Shit. That means he was going to have to play doctor. Again. For the fifth time that month. He was going to have to have a little talk with Jim when this was over with.

"Jim?" he murmured softly, stepping into the living room., looking straight at the couch. And there he was, James Moriarty, London's most dangerous man, curled up on the couch like a two year old.

"Jim." he sighed, setting his rifle case on the ground. "Jim, are you alright?" Silence. Seb hadn't expected an answer, anyway. "Jim." he sat on the couch next to Jim, pulling the man into his lap. Jim didn't help, but he didn't fight, either. Seb offered up a silent prayer for that. It meant this night, or at least the unenjoyable part, would be over sooner. 'Jim." he cooed, rubbing his shoulders firmly. The smaller man let out a grateful whine - he had different whines, Seb had learned that quickly, and how to identify them. "Shh, Jim, it's okay. It's okay."

Two hours later, Jim was curled up upside down in Seb's lap, grinning up at him, Seb's hand protectively on his hip. Sebastian couldn't help but smile back, leaning down to kiss the criminal's forehead.

Everyone thought he was insane for putting up with Jim, for living with him, but no one knew this side of it. No one knew how adoring Jim could be.

No one knew how normal it could be, if just for seconds.

And it was in the hopes that someday they could be normal together that Seb kept trying.


	3. Futile

Futile

Jim threw his full weight against Sebastian, screaming as loud as he possibly could. Sebastian slammed his hand over his mouth, which didn't do much more than muffle the sound. They both knew the neighbors would complain - Seb made a mental note to start looking for a new flat as soon as he can. Jim had gotten them thrown out of almost every single apartment complex in Central London.

"James fucking Moriarty!" he growled, dragging the man into their flat. "You're acting like a fucking toddler, stop it."

Jim simply bit him. The sniper jerked his hand backwards, slapping Jim upside the head, growling. "Don't."

"Don't _what, _Sebby?" Jim's tone was higher than normal, mocking him. After all he'd put Seb through, he dared mock him?

"James Moriarty." he dropped to his knees in front of the younger man, placing a firm hand on his shoulders. "Cut it out."

Jim's eyes darted up to him, then back down, debating the best course of action. Sebastian already knew how this was going to go - every few months Jim would start acting like this. Seb wasn't sure why it happened, but he knew that it was the only time he was ever allowed to be this dominant over Jim.

"James Moriarty." he warned, crossing his arms, quite frustrated with the man. Jim glared at him, sprinting past him into their room - Jim's room, technically, but Seb didn't stay anywhere else. When Jim was angry, Seb slept on the couch. The only time Seb's bed was used was when Jim was too tired to change the sheets. Sebastian's cheeks flushed red, remembering the last encounter in which that had resulted.

"Jim." he shook his head, walking into the kitchen for a shot of vodka, before resigning himself to deal with Jim. "Jaaa-mes." he hummed, walking towards the bedroom. 'Somebody's in trouble."

Silence. He opened the door, to find a pouting James Moriarty perched lightly on the bed. "James, you aren't being very nice, you know. You need to stop."

"Fuck you."

"James."

"Fuck. you."

"Watch your language, honey."

"Fuck you."

"One."

"Fuck - what?"

"Two.."

"Fuck you." Jim's curiosity gave way to is stubborn persistence.

"Three. That's it. No more Glee for a month."  
"No!" the smaller man yelped, glaring at Seb.

"And your phone. A week. Going to behave now, sweetheart?"

Silence. Good. Very good.

"You're still in trouble, Jimmy." Seb frowned down at him, crossing his arms, looking down at him, seemingly disappointed. "You've not been very good."

"But you like it best that way."

"James!" he growled, cuffing the man gently on the back of the head. "I will whip you again."

"No you won't." Not so confident, this time.

Seb sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Jim, just looking at him, running his tongue over his teeth. They both knew what came next.

"Jim." Sebastian's tone was the firmest it would get - Jim hadn't done anything truly wrong, not like almost shooting himself on the roof of a hospital - but it did the trick. Jim climbed into his lap, pressing his head against Seb's chest, still tense, pouting still, Sebastian guessed.

"You can't _sass _England's top smuggler, James Moriarty! You're making yourself enemies faster than you ever have before, not to mention the clean up it leaves me and the rest of your employees! You're constantly acting like a - a - Sherlock Holmes, and I am _sick _of it. Not eating, going into dank moods, enough, Jim. Doctor Watson doesn't put up with it and I sure as hell aren't going to either."

"Oh."

"Oh? James.."

He sighed, slumping visibly. Seb was lucky, he supposed, that Jim calmed so easily, that he listened. At least he didn't have to beat it out of him - but sometimes he almost couldn't fight the desire to. Jim could.. To put it simply, if he'd been sane - he'd have been out from day one. Hell. He'd never have gotten into this in the first place.

And how much he would have missed.

"I'm sorry, Sebby, I don't mean to be a bother, you know." Sebastian had half a feeling that Jim didn't know what he was saying, but he didn't let it concern him. Jim was incredibly vulnerable right now, and he wasn't going to point anything out to make him go back into his shell. Ha. Shell. It was more like.. a castle. A firm castle, with a huge moat. "I.. just.. get so caught up, in my own mind. Sometimes it scares me. Sometimes I just want to be alone. And then I am, and you either don't know or have just left me there, which is so much worse, _so much worse_. And I'm scared and it hurts and I don't know what to do, so when you come back.. I.. I.. I don't know how to act, Seb, I don't know!"

That was new. That was very very new. Jim hadn't ever - Seb pressed his hand to Jim's forehead, concerned, but he felt normal. Jim hadn't ever opened up like this before.

"You could just tell me, you know."

"I don't know how."

And it was gone. Whatever might've been had slipped away, because Jim's tone was flat now, and Seb didn't know why. Had he done something, or not done something?

Wouldn't know.

Would never know.

Could never know.

Not with Jim, anyway.


	4. Erratic

Erratic - 004

Jim blinks, staring at Sebastian, jaw hanging open, trying to find the right words. He had an eloquent sentence completely strung together in his head, but what came out of his mouth was incredibly different and extremely uncharacteristic. "'Bastian-what-the-hell."

The sniper's face flushed, and he turned, trying to get away from Jim, trying to slip him. Jim wouldn't let him away so easily, Seb should've known that, he really should have. Why had he - what had he - Jim closed his eyes, trying to summon his brain back, quiet his erratically beating heart.

"Sebastian." he was trying to spit the word out, but the anger wouldn't come. He was surprised, and a bit scared, but mostly excited. Yes, that was it. He was excited, for the first time in twenty years.

And that was not good. He was going to have to let Sebastian go. And by let him go... Jim closed his eyes, thinking, planning. He didn't want him to hurt, not really, not at all, he'd served Jim well enough over the years. Always been there for him, now that Jim thought about it. It'd been Seb who'd held him when he was upset, or scared - not that James Moriarty was ever scared, not in the literal sense of the word.

Alright, in the literal sense of the word, but that was because he either hadn't taken his medicine or he had and it didn't agree with him. Or maybe it was because Seb had came into the line of fire, and that was the only thing he couldn't deal with.

No, that was ridiculous. And then Seb took him into his arms, jerking all his thoughts away from him, leaving him helpless to do anything but lean into the sniper's arms. He must've noticed the frozen expression on Jim's face, he suspected, but that can't be helped now.

Seb rocked him back and forth for hours, letting him think, pulling him away just when he became tangled in his thoughts again. Amazing, wasn't it, that Seb knew? Jim was starting to reconsider having him killed, and he loathed himself for it. Sebastian also noticed that, possibly saw Jim's eyes grow black and the way he seemed to curl in on himself.

He took it away. He took the pain away, he made Jim stop. Stop everything. Stop hurting, stop being scared, stop beating at his mind begging for an escape. Seb helped. And that was why, Jim reasoned, he had to keep him around.

He wasn't ready to admit the truth. No, not yet. Not quite.


	5. Loved

_Loved_

Laying there, watching the sunset - and also waiting for the bomb in the opposing building to blow, James Moriarty felt loved for the first time in his life. Seb's arms werewrapped lazily around him, singing something along with the radio. Only Sebastian Moran would've turned a typical explosion into a romantic date. Jim appreciated the thought.

They were laying together on an old checkered picnic blanket, stretched out on on a dirty roof-top. There were a few guns scattered round, but they were mostly neglected. Seb had even bought him roses. He'd glared at him, but they were still in their vases and not two-hundred feet below, pedestrians trampling petals and shattered glass.

Jim thought he might be a bit drunk, and he'd only had one glass of champagne. Granted, it was strong stuff. Granted, he'd lied to Sherlock when he'd said he only had one weakness. He got drunk extremely easily. Seb exploited that weakness sometimes, but Jim trusted him. And the sex was more fun that way, anyway, he only wished he could remember it better.

They, meaning Sebastian, had tried to build up an alcohol tolerance for him. It hadn't gone well, and Jim had woken up with a sore ass, marks that looked suspiciously like they came from handcuffs, and no memories of the night before. He was forced to let his imagination take control, which wasn't as fun as actually remembering. Whenever he asked Sebastian, though, he was ignored.

"Jim." he was nudged gently, and he looked up, big brown eyes meeting his sniper's cool... could he even call him that anymore? He was so much more than Jim's sniper, cool blue ones. Eyes. Jim shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. He always managed to get incredibly distracted and _rambly _when he was thinking about Seb. Not good.

"Hmm?"

"Building's been gone for half an hour, sweetie." Jim growled at the use of the term, but Sebastian simply shoved him lightly, continuing to sleep. "Do you want me to hold you all night, or would you rather go home, because I can assure you our bed is much more comfortable?"

"Oh.. Yeah.." Jim turned round quickly, before he could change his mind, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist, burying his face in his chest, cheeks flaming. He could feel Seb tensing, unsure of how to respond, and almost jerked away, but a reassuring hand was placed at the small of his back. "I got ya."

I got ya.

Three words. Three words that meant the world to Jim.

Three words that were running through his head five years later as he thanked Sherlock Holmes.

Another three words were pounding through his head.

"Not anymore, Seb."


	6. Soft

_Soft_

_OOC quite possibly. But I really don't think we've seen the real Jim yet. He's not stupid enough to show it all to anyone. Plus I feel very strongly for a Jim with wild moodswings, angry to docile in seconds. Of course, he trusts Seb the most, but underneath it all.. _

Jim doesn't like the hotel mattress. Jim doesn't like it at all. In fact, Jim's acting like a spoiled toddler because of his hatred for the hotel mattress. He's been so badly behaved that Sebastian's had to confiscate his phone and ban Glee - not to say that he wouldn't have done that at the slightest chance, anyway, though. So now Jim's in the shower, like he's been for the past three hours, pouting. Sebastian doubts he's actually _showering. _He's had experience at this chain of hotels before, and while everything else is luxury, their hot-water doesn't last more than thirty minutes.

Jim hates shower-sex anyway, though, so it doesn't really matter. It's not like they have other options, though. Jim's gotten them banned from every other five-star hotel in London.

Hell, Jim's gotten them banned from every one in a _five hour radius _of London. They wouldn't be here if he hadn't gone and burned down their flat again. Sebastian made a mental note to have a talk about that with him later. He's gotten completely out of hand lately, and Sebastian knows it really isn't his place, but it seems like Jim's been clinging to him as an anchor lately. He's not sure if he'll be welcome to comment, but it almost seems like Jim's begging him.

It might be a plea for attention, actually, yes. Sebastian's almost positive that that's why Jim's doing this. But burning down the far? That's taking it too far. He makes another mental note to spend more time with Jim, more time actually paying attention to him. Actually talking to him. Physical affection, while Jim is a bitch without it, isn't what Jim thrives on. No. He needs to be talked to. Given someone's full attention. Sometimes Seb swears he's a toddler with Einstein's brain in a 32 year old man's body.

But then Jim steps out of the bathroom, hair mussed and wearing one of Seb's shirts and a pair of his own pajama pants, and Seb's heart melts. Again. He's so adorable and weak and _Jim. _Sebastian can barely believe, whenever he sees Jim like this, that he's London's most wanted, and perhaps the world's most dangerous man. He doesn't look it, not at all.

Especially not when he climbs into Sebastian's lap, pressing his cheek against Sebastian's shoulders. It's the closest to an apology they're going to get, and Sebastian willingly accepts it. "Jim." he wraps his arms around Jim firmly, rocking him back and forth, rubbing his back. "What's the matter?"

"Nothin'."

"Jim."

"Really, 'bastian. I promise. There was a problem, and then I burned the flat down, but now I'm okay."

A pause.

"Why."

Jim didn't have to think for a second to understand Sebastian's question. Perhaps it was the genius in him. Perhaps it was because he knew Seb so well. "Because now you're mine. Completely. No distractions."

Just as Seb thought. He nods, kissing Jim's forehead, and talks to him about the smallest things. If someone'd been listening in, they'd have probably called the police. But for them, bugging the Prime Minister _was _small. Eventually the conversation flopped from work to Glee, and it was after ten minutes of whining about Klaine being the cutest couple 'eveeeeeeerrrrrrr', he decided it was time for bed.

Blessed silence hung over the room for a few minutes after he turned out the lights, then his partner's familiar voice. "I hate this mattress."

"Damnit, Jim. What's wrong with it?"

"It's hard."

"Normally you don't complain about hard things.. Jim, that hurt, behave!"

"I am! You aren't!"

"James, we had this talk last week. No. hitting."

"Fine."

Sebastian sighed, pulling Jim close, letting him lay his head on the sniper's bare chest. "Better?"

"Mm. 'love you Bastian."

"I know."


	7. Hold

Hold - 007

"Fucking BASTARD!" Jim screamed, lunging towards the man tied to the rusty operating table. 'I HATE YOU!" Tears were pooling in his eyes, and he stumbled towards his ex-lover, shaking. "I hate you!" He grabbed the first knife he could reach, repeatedly plunging it into Sebastian's body. It was a shock to the sniper - the thought that Jim would actually kill him had never crossed his mind.

Minutes later, Jim was shaking, huddled into a corner, blood all over his clothes. Sebastian, _his _Sebastian was lying dead in the same room. Jim had _killed _him. He was _alone. _He screamed and screamed for someone to help him, to pull him away, to make him stop hurting. Except he had killed the man who had always done that for him.

His screaming changed from cries for help to a repeated 'Sebastian'. Over and over. Again and again. He screamed until his voice ran hoarse, and still continued to scream.

And then it was warm and soft and loving. "Jim?" Sebastian. It was Sebastian. Sebastian's voice. Jim opened his eyes to find himself in his bed, Sebastian worriedly looking down at him. "Sebastian?" he croaked. It had been a dream. Just a dream.

"Shh, Jim, shh. I've got you. Bad dream?" Sebastian pulled the smaller man into him, wrapping his arms around him, burying his nose in Jim's hair. Jim hugged him tightly, trying his hardest to not cry. "Bastian." he gasped, shaking again.

Sebastian looked down at him startled. He'd never seen Jim this shaken up before. "Jim, Jim, it's okay, hush. Jimmy. Jim, listen to me. Jim!" he frowned, sitting up, pulling the younger man into his arms. "James. I'm right here. I'm right here."

Jim crumpled into his arms, gasping for breath. Seb cursed, gently stroking his cheek. "Did you take your meds this morning?"

He shook his head. Hadn't wanted to. Had thought they were pointless. Seb groaned, rocking him back and forth. Nightmares weren't an uncommon occurrence with Jim, but he was always able to deal with them by himself. If he needed Seb, it was always for a distraction. Seb could count on one hand the amount of times the man had been on his medicine and needed Seb to _comfort _him. He thought it had been one of those dreams tonight. He'd never seen Jim in a state even remotely this bad. "James, I've got you. I've got you, honey. What happened?"

And so the words spilled out, Jim telling him about how Sebastian had cheated on him, tried to get away, and how in result Jim had killed him. "Jesus." Seb murmured, kissing Jim's cheek. "I'm here, honey. I'm yours. You know that."

"I _killed _you." Jim murmured, dropping his head onto Seb's shoulder. "And I was so alone and I was hurting so bad."

Seb swallowed, closing his eyes. He knew what would happen to Jim if he ever died. That was why he'd stopped taking unnecessary risks. But whenever Jim had another episode, he always was faced with the harsh reality that someday, he _wouldn't _be here.

What Seb didn't know was that _someday _was coming soon, and he would find Jim's body, sprawled across the roof of Saint Barts.

What Seb didn't know was that he was going to be losing Jim and gaining Richard. A shadow of the man he had once been.

Richard still had nightmares, but he always woke Seb up, because in his mind Seb was safe, and Seb was comfort, and Seb was his Sebby.

Sebastian hated him for it. And yet he couldn't push him away, because he knew Jim was still in there. Terrified. Alone.

And most of all, furious.


	8. Shackles

_008 - Shackles _

I have been stuck in these metaphorical shackles for what seems like forever. The cease to become metaphorical when Jim is horny - or, more commonly, bored. I don't know what I've done to deserve this. I don't know how I got into this. I don't know why I ever thought this was a good idea. What would my life have been like if I hadn't gotten involved with James? I might have published a few more books. Yes, that would have been nice.

But, I did, and if he ever sees this, he'll flip the fuck out. I'm not quite sure how his mood will swing, but he'll either be furious or heartbroken. I'm going to burn this when I'm finished. It's not that I don't love him, because Jesus, this man is every fiber of my being. I would be nothing without him, a shattered puddle of the man I am now.

He isn't easy to live with, though. He'll throw fits, punch, and scream. If he wasn't so small, and if I wasn't so used to it, I would walk around with a lot more bruises decorating my skin. He can't cook, if he tries he ends up zoning out and almost burns down our flat. Oh. He has burned down our flat. Several times. And hotels, too. He gets needy and I'm not there, so he burns it. Then he gets upset and blames it on me.

He's incredibly needy. He has no idea how to do the most simplistic of things. "Boring, Sebastian. Besides, it's completely unnecessary." Sometimes, if we have time to spare, he'll 'forget' how to do his buttons, or tie his tie. But he really doesn't know how to boil a kettle, doesn't know how to make pasta. He may be masochistic, but he's not stupid, and the burns he gets when he tries are severe enough for me to know he's not playing.

James doesn't know that you're not supposed to put metal in the microwave. He doesn't know that pickles expire. He doesn't understand that dish soap isn't interchangeable with laundry soap, or that you can'tfreeze styrofoam. I'm always there to take care of him, to tell him, "No, James, you can't do that." I don't know if he could survive out on his own. He's just so clueless. I'm kind of amazed, but then I look at his past, and I realize that there's been no one to teach him these things.

And then I come home and find him in a pool of his own blood, straight razor in one hand, wrists slit. He's upset, and he's scared, but he doesn't know how to talk to me, how to explain how he feels besides that he _hurts. _I don't know if he trusts me enough. He always says he does. I don't believe him.

I try to talk to him, and he'll promise me he won't do it again, just tell me he had an incident, but they happen far too often to be unconnected. I think the brain that he's been blessed with is also a curse. It drives him crazy. I don't know how to help him, or I would. Drugs seem to have helped Sherlock. I'm tempted, but I know I could never hurt Jim like that. All I can do is talk to him, try and pull him away from the black hole that is his mind.

The nightmares aren't fun for either of us. He'll wake up a mess. Sometimes he'll cry. Sometimes he'll yell. Sometimes he'll just curl up in my arms, and those nights are the worst, because we both know he's so broken inside. It tears my heart apart to see him like this. He acts so strong, so rough, so smart, so ready, so able, but in the end he's just as scared and confused as the rest of us.

Sometimes I want to give him medicine. Maybe it'll help him. But I know that having him take meds would murder his spirit. And I can't do that to Jim. I can not do that to him. He'll hurt in a different way. I know he'll take them if I ask. Sometimes I'm so tempted. I know he's seen the bottles in the trash, doesn't mention them. Except once. All he said was that he had hoped I'd been smart when threatening the pharmacist. He cried that night. He wouldn't tell me why. I know he's scared. He's scared that I'm going to leave him, or that I'm going to hurt him. But I'll never force him onto pills, because I know that instead of a living Jim in a pool of blood I'll find a dead Jim in a pool of blood.

Sex is always interesting. I know what he likes, but he's always experimenting, new positions, new toys. Sometimes, he lets me make love to him, and those are always the best memories. He's so sweet, and gentle, and loving, and so utterly _James. _The act fades away, and Jim is always at his most open afterwards. But sometimes Jim has a bad day, and then it's _Jim _who's fucking me violently into the mattress, teeth tearing at my skin. And it hurts, it hurts me so terribly, because at work he is Jim, and at home he is James.

Jim is just an act, thousands of personas, interchangeable. But James? James is real, and James is mine. James talks to me the best he can. James is honest, and open, and James would never torture me. Jim is a mask, because James is smart enough to hide his true self, but a disguise is always a self-portrait, I have to remind myself. But James isn't Jim, and he never will be, but sometimes he forgets how to be James, how to let his walls down and how to trust me.

It upsets me, to see how confident Jim can go to self-conscious James. Confused James. Broken James. I don't like Jim, don't get me wrong, but I wish James could be as happy as Jim pretends to be.

The relationship itself isn't healthy. But it works for us, and so I won't try and change it. It always amazes me how dependent Jim can be. I love him, and he loves me back, in his own twisted way. He's my James, and I am his Sebastian.


	9. Broken

9 - Broken But first, an apology. I lost my muse for this one, it's been too long since an update.

He's curled up in my lap now, fast asleep. We'd started the movie late, and he couldn't keep his eyes open past eleven normally. It's strange, I muse as I pick him up, hugging him to my chest and carrying him into his - no, our bedroom.

Things have changed so much. I don't know what he is to me, but I know that I am everything to Richard. Much as I hate to admit it, I find myself falling for him. He can never replace Jim, nor do I want him as a mere replacement. But there's a kindness about him that Jim always lacked, something that said I'll care if you don't come home tonight.

So, you could say, I'm in love with two different men. And yet they're the same. I can never have them both - not that Jim would allow it anyway. But I want, and I miss, and I crave.

I won't sleep with Rich. I think it upsets him. Makes him think I don't want him. But you see, while Jim and I've definitely kissed, more than kissed, we never slept together. I don't think he trusted himself to let himself bare himself to me. Not physically, we were well beyond that, but mentally, emotionally. Rich doesn't understand - but I can't bring myself to explain to him who he is. Was.

Sometimes he'll come to me, sobbing in the middle of the night. He'll tell me he had a nightmare again. Where he was mean, and heartless, but underneath it all, so scared, and so alone. And sometimes his eyes'll flash when I don't give him what he wants, and I know Jim's come back, just for a second.

And everytime it happens, I fall deeper in love with the both of them. 


	10. Precious

Precious - 10 Jim can't believe how lucky he is. How lucky he is to have this, how lucky he is that he doesn't hate it as much as he thought he would, how lucky he is that life still isn't boring. How lucky he is that he has Sebastian at his side, and that he's no longer alone, not anymore. He can hardly believe how much time has flown by, thirty years. Thirty years since Carl Powers, thirty years since Sebastian had found him crying in the bathroom.

Thirty years since Sebastian had realized that the bruises weren't fresh enough to have been inflicted by Carl, thirty years since Sebastian saved his life. And they'd been together ever since, at least, looking back at it now. It hadn't seemed like it at the time - when Sebastian joined the military, and Jim went off to college instead. And then when they were 25 and 29 and Jim ran off on him, couldn't take it anymore. Or the months when they'd disappear from each other's lives completely.

And then they were in love, and they hated each other more than ever, and everything was wonderful and everything hurt so badly. They'd cheat, and they'd fight, and Jim'd scream, and Seb would leave, but they always came back to each other, like waves crashing against the shore.

Life was following that pattern, and it seemed to be infinitely doomed to repeat, but then came Alex. That was a complicated story indeed, but to put it simply, Jim got angry, ran off to Molly, she got pregnant.

He, of course, didn't know, had no idea, not until the hospital called him nine months later, telling him that Molly had passed away during labor, and that she'd named him as the Father. Jim was furious, of course, but more than that he was upset. It was his fault, in a way, that she was dead, and God, he missed her.

She'd never replaced Seb, but she'd been his only friend in the world, and he curls in on himself in a ball of self-loathing whenever he thinks of how alone he'd left her. The only thing that comforts him is that Sherlock had been with her the whole time - Jesus, ten years ago he'd have never imagined himself saying that. And that he'd told her he loved her the last time he saw her. Hadn't meant it, not in the way she'd taken it, but that was okay.

He was lucky, very lucky, that Sebastian had agreed to raise him. He didn't think Alex would've survived past infancy without him. Now, Alex is graduating in three months, dating Sherlock's son, and Jim's absolutely amazed.

No, this isn't something he'd have ever even imagined happening. Not in his wildest dreams - nightmares. But it's precious to him, and he wouldn't trade it for anything. Not for anything. 


	11. Odds and Ends

Jim sits in the attic, sorting through things, waiting for Sebastian to get home. It's awfully quiet around the house without Alex - and although he won't admit it to himself, he misses Hamish, too. They've become intertwined in his life, Alex for the past eighteen years, and Hamish for the past four. The empty house that he had longed for for so long had lost its appeal, and now all he wished was for a few more hours with all as it had been before.

It wasn't so bad when Sebastian was home, but he still missed Alex. Everything reminded him of him. Even the things that had irritated him, that he had screamed at him, grounded him for, wouldn't have been an unwelcome addition to his life.

He starts going through the boxes again, pulling himself out of his thoughts. They'd been meaning to organize the attic for _years. _He figures he'll go chronologically, and moves to the other end of the attic, to the oldest boxes. From when they first met.

_Are you okay? Those were the first words Sebastian Moran had said to him. He'd been crying in the bathroom - pathetic display of weakness, and he'd hated himself for it. Carl Powers had bested him again, and he knew it wouldn't go on for much longer, but he couldn't take it anymore. He could've survived if it was just that, but his Father hadn't been wonderful to him the night before. And so James Moriarty cracked. Sebastian Moran was there for him, and not for the last time, either. He barely remembers it - but that's okay. He remembers his warm embrace. _

He smiles a bit, pulling out the jacket he'd worn that day. It still smells like Sebastian. Or maybe it smells like blood and sweat. There's not really a difference. There's also a bloody shirt in the box, and he stuffs it away, but it's too late for him to not catch the scent, and he's jerked back.

Sebastian finds him in the attic three hours later, sees the shirt, knows what happened, and holds him close until he's okay again.

But is he really okay?


	12. Tea

Tea. It's a comforting thing, if he thinks about it incredibly hard. Well. The tea itself isn't comforting, it's inanimate, and he bloody right hates tea - Oh. He's thinking too much into it. Sebastian had always scolded him about that.

Sebastian. That was the reason he was staring at the infernal drink in the first place. He'd hoped it would bring him back. If the tea didn't work? There was always vodka.

Sebastian had never let him touch the vodka.

The man stares into the teacup blankly, tilting his head. He's almost positive it isn't supposed to look like that. And it is without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't supposed to taste like that. He wrinkles his nose, spitting it out into the sink, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. Disgusting. Disgusting.

Sebastian had always been able to make tea that he could at least pretend to enjoy.

Now he was alone, and helpless. He couldn't even make a cup of tea by himself. How was he expected to survive?

On takeout, he supposed. Takeout. Sebastian had always hated takeout. He was able to cook better by himself, anyway, so he never complained. They'd go out for dinner once in a while, but never, not ever take out. The only thing Sebastian didn't know how to make? Sushi.

But that was okay, because he made amazing pancakes.

Pancakes, he mused. He'd never have pancakes again. Too many memories.


	13. Twisted

Twisted. That would be the word to describe him. Twisted. He had so many of the former genius' traits, but something was missing. That something killed Sebastian. It absolutely killed him. He would wake up in the morning, and Richard would be curled up besides him, asleep and angelic. It looked like the picture that he'd always dreamed to.

But it wasn't, because this wasn't Jim, this was a shadow of the man he had been. He wasn't even sure if it _was _Jim, anymore. If anything of Jim remained. Sometimes Richard would have the most horrible outbursts, and break things, kick, scream, anything. People would say 'Jim's still there.'

Sebastian didn't think so. No, he was convinced that Jim was fighting his way back into his body. Richard was _not _Jim. Richard had never been Jim. Jim, rather, was simply.. sleeping. And then he'd wake up, and that was when Sebastian would have to take Richard to the hospital. Put him in for being suicidal. Again.

They told himt o give him his medicine, but Sebastian didn't, because it wasn't Richard that was broken. Richard was the _break. _Besides, medicated or not, nothing stopped Jim from getting what he wanted.

Richard loved Sebastian. He did. And Sebastian loved him too, but he would never be able to love him right. Richard knew it. Of course he did. He knew that he would never be able to replace Jim - but, oh, he tried.

Sebastian would almost miss him. Almost.


	14. Echo

_ Echo_

_ ech-o, noun, 1. a repetition of sound produced by the reflection of soundwaves from a wall, mountain, or other obstructing surface._

James Moriarty was a curious man. He spent his days in a whirlwind of motion and thoughts, never slowing down, never stopping to pay attention to anything unnecessary. If there was the slightest lull in this activity, he would complain about being bored - but if anything ever was more difficult than normal, he found he wasn't able to handle it.

James Moriarty, yes, was peculiar. It was that word that everyone that came to know him would choose to describe him. He had a great many oddities, things which had to be exactly perfect for him to be happy. A type of OCD, they would say, whether or not the term is medically accurate to describe him.

The walls could be any color, but they had to have a certain level of black in them. Spoons had to be ornate - and, because of that, expensive. He would only drink tea from Disneyworld, and coffee wasn't allowed in his flat. The blinds had to be shut a certain way. The radio was always to be tuned to the first FM station - whether or not he liked it, whether or not he had to retune everytime he turned the car on.

There was a specific use for every outlet in the house, and if your laptop was dying and you wanted to charge it, woe be to you, because you'd have to plug it in in the office, the only place he would let you. The bedroom had a few assigned, but they were specifically for his and Sebastian's use.

Even the way his suits were laid out was specific. They had to be ordered in the opposite way he would put them on, something that troubled him more than it helped, but it was habit, and even Sebastian Moran knew better than to try and change that.

_ech-o, noun, 2. a person who reflects or imitates another._

Sebastian Moran had always been a leader. That was the first thing people would say about him, that he was completely his own person. His peers couldn't make him back down on his opinions without thought.

Sebastian Moran was incredibly flexible with other people, but very set in his own ways. This was unlike Jim, because Sebastian was quite alright with people doing whatever they wanted, even though he wouldn't do it himself.

He was the calm to Jim's mad, the rock to Jim's wind, the.. everything to Jim's nothing, the nothing to Jim's everything. They were nothing without each other, but they were nothing with eachother. It was a relationship of paradoxes, but one thing that always remained the same was Sebastian.

Except, years and years later, when he'd lost Jim, the criminal was reflected in every crevice of his body. His eyes had a depth of sadness that they'd never had before, a depth that mirrored Jim's exactly. He hadn't realized it while it was happening, but when he stepped back to look at himself, he could see Jim's behaviors reflected in himself. The way he picked up teacups, the way he wrote, even the way he cleaned his gun.

Sebastian had, in a way, became Jim. And that was what hurt the most. Jim had never became Sebastian.


	15. Soothe

Guys, I cannot explain how sorry I am this took so long. The prompt was really, really difficult for me to write; hence why it's so short. The next one should come easier. And sooner. Hopefully tomorrow.

15 - Soothe

Much could be said about James Moriarty. That he was a kind man is not, nor will it ever be, one of those things. Sebastian was used to that. He'd accepted it. It wasn't a problem, and it never had been. Sometimes Jim would push and push and push, and it would have broken Sebastian's shell long ago, if he'd still had a shell.

Sebastian Moran knew the day he set foot in Jim's flat that there was never going to be any use hiding things from the criminal. He was too smart, too nosy, and too good at getting what he wanted.

The only thing he kept hidden was his nightmmares. They weren't hidden, he supposed, not anymore. Jim had to have found out the first night they slept together. But they were the one thing he wouldn't prod at. The one thing that was, he supposed, his safe place.

Sometimes they'd get so bad that he'd wake up and not be able to remember where he was. Or who he was. Sometimes he'd wake up screaming, and he knew Jim was awake, too.

Jim Moriarty, for the first time in his life, decided to stay out of something. Sebastian was grateful he did. They didn't have a fluffy relationship. There was absolutely nothing fluffy in their relationship. They weren't the kind of people who would rock and sing each other to sleep.

But Sebastian was okay with that. Sebastian was completely and utterly okay with that. Because somehow, Jim not caring proved that Jim did care. And that fact soothed him more than Jim could ever knowingly do.


	16. Fight

The first time _Sebastian _fought with _Jim _was a turning point in their relationship. They had both been in their early twenties, Jim just starting to become emperor of crime, Sebastian his faithful sniper.

Everything was going well. Everything but Jim. It seemed to Sebastian that everything he did was with the purpose of destroying what they'd both worked so hard to build. He would go out drinking, not bothering to disguise himself, openly telling people who he was. What he did. And with the amount of enemies he had made, and his face plastered all over London as one of Scotland Yard's most wanted.

"This has to stop, James." Sebastian had finally snapped, deciding that it was best to sit him down and talk to him. "You're compromising everything. Everything, James! Do you know how many hits we've had to cancel in the past month because _you _told someone about them? Sometimes even the target themselves!"

Jim slunk down into his seat, folding his arms over his chest and ignoring Sebastian. Sebastian narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, jaw clenched. "James Moriarty. You are twenty-two. Not five. So sit up and act your age. Take responsibility for something. "

Nothing. Sebastian groaned, he had told himself he wouldn't do this, but.. "You're on heroin again. I found your needles."

The Irishman's eyes shot open as he sat up straight, a guilty expression sliding onto his face. "Shit. I hadn't meant for you to find out - I'm sorry, I really am, but it's none of your business. Stay out of it. You aren't my mother."

"No, because you killed her when she pointed out your drug habits. This has to stop, Jim. You were clean. I was so proud of you, and you've ruined it. You've ruined everything. What changed?"

No response. Great. Great.

"I'm going to bed, then. Sleep on the couch." he bit his lip, standing up and biting his tongue. "Goodnight, James."

With that, he left. No 'I love you.' They'd said it to each other every night since they were fourteen, no matter what. Whether it was by text or a phone call or in person, they always said it. Not tonight.

Jim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Then another. And another. "Fuck." he finally managed to squeak, tucking himself in a tight ball. "Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck this."

He hadn't mean to upset Sebastian, he decided. When he meant to upset Sebastian, he was never upset like this. He hadn't considered the very likely possibility that Sebastian would find out, about the drugs, or even the drinking. The drinking he had expected, of course, eventually, but not so soon. Nothing was going like he'd planned.

His pride was too much, though, and he refused to admit he had been wrong. He had everything under control, he reassured himself, and Sebastian needed to see that. Jim's thoughts ran around in circles for hours, before he realized that Sebastian was right. The drugs were getting to him again. Already he couldn't think like normal, and although his thoughts were finally calm, it wasn't worth it. He couldn't live like this for the rest of his life.

"Sebastian." he called softly, rubbing his tears away. "'bastian, get up. I know you're awake."

Sebastian bit his tongue, looking down at Jim from the landing at the top of the stairs. He had been watching him the entire time, and he had almost been able to label his thoughts as they came. After 8 years, he was just starting to learn to read Jim. It really said something about Jim's personality, he mused. "What?" he called, not walking down the stairs.

Jim started, glancing up. He should have noticed, he should have noticed. He must have been there the entire time. His brain was getting dull. "I'm sorry." he spat, having a hard time getting the words out.

"I - No, you aren't. You're upset that I'm upset. But you aren't sorry."

"You're right." he shrugged. "I'm really not. I thought about my decisions, I made them, and I don't regret them. I do agree, though, that my.. self-destructive behaviors need to stop. I'm hurting myself. And I don't want to end up like your _mother_." It was a cheap shot, and Jim wished he could take it back the moment he said it, but it was too late.

Sebstian's jaw dropped as he stared at Jim, hands clenching on the banister. "My mother? We're bringing my mother into this? Fuck you, Jim. Fuck you."

"Seb!" he yelped, trying to draw the man's attention before he could storm away. "Seb, I'm sorry, it just came out, I was mad, I am mad, I just - sorry. Don't leave. I didn't mean it. That was mean."

"Forget about it. You're going to stop?"

Jim nodded, tucking his blanket around his slim figure. That was all Sebastian needed to forgive him. They fell asleep together on the couch, curled tightly around each other, but not before Sebastian murmured, "I love you."

"And I love you."


	17. Naked

17 - Naked

"Alex." Jim growled, pacing around the dining room, eyes furious. The girl shot a terrified glance at Sebastian, who could only smile reassuringly at her. Even he had never seen Jim this mad; but his fury wasn't completely directed at his daughter.

"Yes, Daddy?" she batted her eyelashes, stark black in contrast with her incredibly pale skin. Jim smirked, slowing to a halt across from her, placing his palms on the table and leaning forward.

"Do you have something to _tell _me, lovely?" After a minute without a response, he grinned, sitting on the table, looking at her. She slunk down in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "No. Okay. I don't know where to start; that my innocent little girl is dating? Or that she's sleeping with this mystery man? Who she's been hiding from me? Or that he's a _Holmes._" he spat the last word, causing Alex to slide down into her chair further.

"I'm sorry!" she winced, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. Yes, she'd known that this would happen, but she hadn't - well, she hadn't thought it would happen so soon. Or so.. horribly. "Daddy, I love him. A lot."

That was the wrong thing to say.

When she was finally allowed to run back to her room, tears streaming down her face, it was well past one in the morning. She hadn't achieved anything except getting her phone taken away; and Jim still refused to see her point.

Jim stormed off to the bathroom, and Sebastian sat patiently outside the door, coffee mug in hand. "Kitten." he murmured, softly tapping on the door. "She's 17, kitten. She's 17 and she thinks she knows everything. She isn't going to understand. I can promise you that. Just like you didn't listen to your parents when they told you to stay away from me."

The criminal unlocked the door, sitting in Sebastian's lap and taking the coffee mug out of his hand, sipping it. He had never drank coffee in the days before Alex. "But I was right."

"She could be."

"She couldn't! He's a fucking Holmes!"

Sebastian paused, kissing his husband's temple. "Is Alex anything like you?" No answer. "Or like me?" Again, silence. "Yeah. She's her own person. So is he. Maybe you should.. give it a chance, okay?"

Sebastian slept on the couch that night. And the night after that. And the one after that. Alex did end up getting her way, though.


	18. Push

Push - 18

Jim clenched his fists, staring blankly at the computer screen. Sebastian was injured, badly, and stranded across an ocean. It was his fault, really, when Jim thought about it. Sebastian had insisted on getting mad, and Sebastian had insisted on taking the hit, whining about not being incompetent just because he had feelings. Jim let him go; he couldn't be blamed for that, Sebastian was a pest.

And now he was hurt and it was his own damned fault. Jim had half a mind to leave him to die, but the small piece of humanity he had left told him otherwise. He hated himself for it more than he could explain, but he would miss Sebastian if the sniper died.

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit. The argument kept running through his words, the last personal words he had said to Sebastian were engraved into his brain. "Fuck you, fuck you! Get out of my house, and don't come back! I hate you!"

The last professional words he said to him had been strict. Impersonal. Mean. Harsh. He felt like he was going to throw up. With a few keystrokes he ordered the sniper's rescue; if everything went as planned and Sebastian didn't die, he would be able to see him within twenty-four hours.

He would be able to climb into his lap, and he would be able to cry. He was James fucking Moriarty; he figured he could cry whenever the hell he wanted. He would be able to hug him, never let go of him.

Jim wouldn't apologize. But Jim never apologized.


	19. Alive

19 - Alive

Jim swallowed, staring down at the ground, hundreds of feet below him. "Sebastian." he squeaked, clinging to the wire with all of his might, vision going black for a second. "Sebastian, I want to come down."

The sniper came up behind him, a stunning feet, as the steel bar they were standing on was only a foot and a half wide. He wrapped his arms tightly around Jim's waist, ordering him to let go. For some reason, he obeyed.

"I can feel your heart beat." Sebastian chuckled, lifting the small man up and putting him on the strong wire in front of them, holding him by the waist. Jim groaned, unable to take his eyes off the ground. "I want to go home, we shouldn't be here, I want to get down, Sebby?"

His voice was much more terrified than normal, which surprised and amused Sebastian. "Hush, little kitten. It's going to be fine. I'll help you. When have I not?"

The criminal nodded, sighing. It was nice, he admitted, to be able to have a few minutes in peace. Everything had gone wrong, everything. He and Sebastian had been running ever since. It wasn't fair, and he didn't like it. Sooner or later, they would be cornered, and they would die.

Before he realized what was happening, Sebstian had stepped up on the wire next to him, wrapping his arms around his waist again, kissing him roughly. Jim screamed, starting to lose his balance, only to have Sebastian steady. "Fuck, Sebas- oh." he swallowed, realizing why they'd come here.

"James Moriarty.." the sniper looked at him with sad, tired eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. I wish we'd have had more time together, because I really do love you. And if we'd have had time, then we'd have gotten married, eh? I have the ring in my pocket. Here." he pulled it out of his pocket and slid it onto the man's finger. Jim murmured a breathless yes, and Sebastian pulled him close, balancing precariously on the wire. "Good. We're engaged, then." A pause, as he kissed him deeply once more. "Are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. And, just so you know, I love you too. Let's just call it married and be done with it." Sebastian was surprised. Jim was calm. Completely calm. He had expected a fuss, and tears, but - no.

"Great. Married then." he nodded, squeezing Jim a last time, pulling him into his arms.

And they fell, intertwined. If only they had had more time. Isn't that all we ever need, to straighten things out? More time?

Yes. If they'd had more time, they would have gotten married. And they would have had children. Grandchildren.

They would have been happy, if one line of code hadn't gone wrong.

But it did.


	20. New

20 - New

"Pick up my suits. And get fitted for a new one, yourself."

That had been the first 'job' Sebastian had been given after coming to work for Jim. He had promptly refused. The bruise took three weeks to heal, and by that time, another had taken its place. He ended up getting the suits.

Suits became the only steady thing about their relationship. Sebastian would constantly rip or bloody his - Jim took great pride in cutting them to shreds when he was angry. Jim would constantly tire of his. Sebastian had told him several times that he was a sniper, not an errand boy. Jim ignored him.

The one suit Sebastian would never look at, let alone touch, was the one Jim had worn the day of the Fall. Even decades after the incident, he still couldn't stand the site of the bloody thing. It reduced him to tears, every time. The fourteenth time Jim found him curled up on the floor, he tossed it out.

It made no difference. It still haunted Sebastian; it grew to a point where he couldn't stand suits of the same brand. Then suits of the same color. Then suits of the same fit. Then suits at all. It bothered Jim, but he changed at the office, taking care Sebastian never saw him in one.

Fitting, though, that they both be buried in one.


	21. Born

Jim glared at the small bundle in disgust. It was pale and skinny, premature. And dead. Such a disappointment; he had expected something better from someone who shared his genetic material. She had his eyes, but they were blank now, glassy and.. empty. Disappointing. Incredibly disappointing, even if he had been planning on killing her. Maybe he would have kept her around for a while - maybe she wouldn't have been as annoying as Sebastian.

He turned round, facing the approaching footsteps, bored expression on his face same as always. "Sebastian," Jim drawled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Is this a matter of any great importance? I fear I'm required to be here until they pronounce lovely Ms. Adler dead. For old time's sake."

"She is." The sniper raised an eyebrow, taking his boss firmly by the hand. "You aren't supposed to be in here. Did Molly let you in? I told her twenty times not to. Dammit, Jim!" He hissed, jerking the man roughly out of the morgue. "You're bleeding. You're bleeding, and you're on the run, and you aren't fucking supposed to be in England!"

Jim only shrugged, following him out of the hospital, face of the baby ingrained in his mind, appearing whenever he closed his eyes. Sebastian's disgust was hardly concealed at how badly Jim was handling this.

**Because 'distant' was the most emotional Jim ever was. **


	22. Murmur

It was hardly a variation of routine. All it took was a gentle murmur, a press of lips against sensitive skin, and a firm embrace around his quivering body.

Even when he was continents away, Sebastian would still wake up at four in the morning. Still fumble for his phone to call the criminal, make sure he was alright. He'd talk until Jim fell back asleep, phone in hand - and then he'd fall asleep, too, still on the line. They still panicked when they couldn't reach each other the next morning - forgetting that one or the other's phones was bound to be dead.

When he was at home, Sebastian would wake up at the slightest rustle of sheets, suddenly attentive to the man sharing the bed. He would hug him close, sing lullabies and old Irish ballads in the hope that the nightmares would recede and Jim would stay in a peaceful sleep.

It never happened, though. Jim would wake up, cold sweat peppered along his forehead, night-shirt clinging to his skin. Sebastian would sooth him, lure him back to sleep, and hold him even closer than the last time.

It was hardly a variation of routine.


End file.
